


Triumph and Defiance

by Skjaldmaer



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Abby and his follower in disguise as normal blood dragons, Abby is a good man I want to have him more, F/M, Fistfight, Hand-to-hand fight, One Night Stands, Shameless Smut, Vampire Sex, Wrestling, my first smut in English, sex after quarrel, warrior woman/stoic vampire man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 16:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skjaldmaer/pseuds/Skjaldmaer
Summary: A norscan mercenary traveled to Wissenland for her task, and during her trip, she encountered a warrior cladded in red armour and was saved by him in hellish situation. And it was their second meet. Reached a temporary agreement, together they rode into the Grey Mountains to dig out darkness in-depth.At the dusk of the fifteenth day, they had more talks, bickers, quarrels, and things went through as their relationship of travelling companion developed into something more..."Everything fading away except him. Time flowed like currents in the sea, and they were two boats on the verge of being swamped."





	Triumph and Defiance

**Author's Note:**

> It was my first attempt to write smut about WFB in English, the idea came in an unexpected way. Anyhow I wrote it out before inspiration faded, thanks for my recently Pageviews of some old WH novels that had Abby in the stories, like Master of the Dead、Neferata、and The Red Duke.  
> Whole work was written in Alfsól´s POV to mostly avoid OOC of Abby the Red Dragon, though I could say I had tried my best to shape him. Hope you enjoy it.  
> Praise to be my wonderful Abby. He is the best character I’ve met in Warhammer Fantasy, because of him I started to build my blood dragons based army lists instead of summoning 100+ skeletons to make myself dead inside. Because of him I got saved.

 

 

It was innocuous to say that the first place they´ve met was the courtyard of Castle Sternieste, in one dusk before restless night. She came here to get a good breathe, while a tall dark shape appeared under the bright moonshine, with a great sword in his grip, blade tip resting on the ground.

Alfsól recognised his ornated armour in blood red and that open-faced helmet made from some rare monster's skull. It must be him, friend of that smug bretonian blood dragon 'el Sabros' -who claimed himself to be a scion of Aquitaine. Alfsól wasn’t sure what was it that made his armour covered in dark shades of midnight. She only saw this warrior twice under some assembling conditions, during her time of refuge in Sylvania. And that was barely a glimpse.

The norse warrior wanted to make herself scarce, but his gaze was already turned on her. Not before that moment could she discern the man's hawklike feature, exotic and precise as a fine blade, pale flesh as dead as a corpse, while his black eyes bored into her, with some grim emotion and cruel instinction behind. She smiled unlovely as her alertness worked to prevent her from threat, however the vampire just noded slightly to her as a greeting, then turned himself away.

 _Not like his fellow, he prefers isolation._ She thought.

 

One year after her precipitate self-rescue from the prison cell of Marienburg, Alfsól went to the western side of the empire, to carry out one quest of infiltration for her present employer. There was truly some provocation against the law of empire in that justical duel to save that wrongly judged farmer from a poor peasant family, and she had no intention of concealing it. In that storm barreling night following, whence she chased after the track of that manipulator behind-the-scene and got involved into the evil rituals of dense macabre, they encountered again, he dragged her moribund body out from all that madding horror.

Echos of ancient damnation were still haunting, while cults of chaos rose in revolts over Wissenland, among hundreds of reasons that made this area utter disorder. Though their objectives were never the same, and through out the entire process they never mentioned about it to each other. After reaching an temporary agreement, together they forced their way deep into the Grey Mountains to seek out dark truth.

 

And it was really a rough and tantalizing journey. Fifteen days passed and she didn't even know his true name, what she only got was that the bretonian vampire knight 'el Sabros' called him the Red Dragon.

Anyhow an "ye red dragon" or "hey" were enough for this man-in-mystery.

 

"Why saved me? Why cared those human lifes? You know, most of your kinds did the opposite." She rode on a horse that took from a wasted barn, tried to follow his nightmare steed. The question she threw at him no less than twenty times, this time more sarcastically. Though mostly she never got any answer, but keeping silent was never her way. Alfsól of the Norsca could make friends in hell, or undo a dead dragon's mouth.

"I'm not one of them." He spoke briefly with his voice a deep growl.

"Ah, thanks to Sigmar, I thought you were deaf again." She murmured. "I wonder why you patronized yourself in Sylvania, you and your friend, el Sabros. Intrigue life never suits you, right?"

He turned his head to face her. "And why did you?"

Alfsól was surprised by his unexpected response."Because I'm a mercenary. I rent my sword to anyone who can afford the price. "

"Even to one extremly dangerous?"

Alfsól grinned a snicker. "Why not? I am born for danger, and I indulge in it."

His nightmare steed snorted out loud, almost frightened her emaciated mount to throw her down. She coughed in pain as her dehiscent wounds tortured her self-defense. When she raised her head, only to find the vampire's obsidian eyes measured with hers.

 _Damn that monster horse._ The mercenary cursed undertone, then dissolved her grimace swiftly.

The most interesting thing was, this blood dragon seemed to notice her awkward attempt of covering her weakness, he withdrew his stare, and slow down his steed to match her pace.

Then she heard his deep voice again.

"I've heard something about you. You are from the North Norsca?"

"Já. Quite barbaric, huh." _Curse that bretonian gossipmonger._

"I only believe in my own eyes. I´ve made my steps on that harsh mountainous land many times, far to those arctic fjords on Frozen Sea. Brutal savages as you said. And it is you, a princess of Aslinga, did that faultlessly justical duel a few days ago, for a wronged peasant. Why? "

“Strange question asked by strange person. I’m no princess but one living a hard life. And it’s a shame to bully those weaks, that’s why. Infamy disdained even by my folks.”

“You still cared about your folks.”

"You are mocking me."

"No." He said it in deep tone, penetrating sight on her face. "I know you are not one of them."

She bared her teeth to make a ruffian sneer. "You know nothing of me. I just raided an errant knight in Drakwald Forest, pushed his body off the cliff, sold his armours and blades to a rogue trader."

The Red Dragon frowned. "Lie. No one would wander errantly in Drakwald Forest."

"Huh, thanks for correcting me, Knight of sunlight and truth. But I really did raids."

They rode across one bridge, he precided while she followed. Silence went through them for a while, then he made second attempt to communicate with his mortal companion.

"Does it matter to you? What's the significance of this?"

The significance of this. She took a breath, and laughed.

_To deceive fools of course._

“You know, Gods are unreal. Those proclaimed themselves ‘god’ are nothing but slavers.”

Alfsól exhaled in astonish as her mount suddenly wrenched it's hoof. Before she dropped from saddle, the Red Dragon already held her arm.

"You are bleeding, mortal. You should rest."

She snapped his gauntlet aside. "Just some tiny wounds. I couldn't be better!"

Then suddenly she realized that haughty expression on his handsome face, and there was some amusement crept in his eyes, as if an elder pleased by a child. She hated it spontaneously.

"I knew enough of how to kill norsemen without cutting through them."

 

 

 

 

He led her into a temple of Myrmidia. Alfsól cleared herself in the fountain of backyards, and used some medical supplies he found for her under the altar to patch up her wounds all over her body.

"How did you even know...There is a temple? I'm really impressed."

"Because I've been here once." The vampire leaned upon the pillar, contemplative expression within his helmet.

"Why?"

"To repay a debt." He answered drily.

The norse warrior opened her mouth, tried to say something, then gave up. Now she was stripped to the waist, with her breasts wrapped by bandages, revealing tattoos on her back. She wandered around the cella and opisthodomos curiously, seeking for something valuable and raidable. There was nothing but ruins of faith. Finally she stood before the Red Dragon, arms cross her chest. He looked over her from head to toe, turned himself away as the first time they met.

"I already got bored. We should go out for a walk." She suggested.

"Night shall fall quickly. You are going to rest."

"I refuse, it's too early. " The mercenary drew one step back, with something fierce and wild glowed inside. A wolfish grin appeared on her face. "You must have killed countless norsemen. Have you ever wrestled with them before?"

 

As soon as the words faded in the air, her bonny muscular body hunched to a predatory posture, and in a burst of brute strength, Alfsól dashed towards him abruptly with both of her arms assaulted to his left cuish. So sudden it was that his precaution for the mortal failed in the first time reaction. Hoisted by her arms, he leaned over on her back to alleviate her force of knock-down, gauntlets stretched for her neck. With wonderful grace he shrunk his legs, grasped her shoulder and broke free from her tackle.

"You don't know what you are doing!" The Red Dragon snarled in cold menace as his right hand passed through her thighs to pick her waist. "I would have killed you in the first moment."

He lift her with ease while she roared in frustration to struggle herself.

"And why don't you? Am I not one of those uncivilized chaos tribal maniacs that ward off your way of seeking self perfection in arms? Kill me to prove your martial honour, or I shall call you a hypocrite!"

Nothing happened. The Red Dragon just dropped her to the ground. She hissed and crawled herself up. _A crushing undignified defeat._ She spat herself.

"You are different. You should be proud of that."

Tempted by her own rage, Alfsól clenched her fists, wielded to his exposed face. The vampire evaded hence her blows of storm striking on his chest plate and brassarts, hard enough to knock him backward, forcing him to fence his upper body by upholding his arms.

"Damn-that-proud! Should my folks deserve that fate? To be enslaved by evil slavers and live a fucking warpig life? And why?"

Knucklebones cracked and scratched by the razor edges of his armour, blood spilled on metal like another fresh coating, but she never cared. "Because they are born this way! Savage serve them right, and there was nothing to do with civility, prosperity, thrive and peace! How condign are they! Am I any different?"

"Enough!" With a single lightning snap he caught her wrist, using his underarm to bent her, while her free albow thrust in his ribs. He hummed and locked her torso from behind by his another brassart. Alfsól yelled out, curled her legs to kick his chausses, both of them losed their balance as they fell to the ground.

The Red Dragon reacted first. He raised his knees, utilizing the force of falling to withhold her back. Alfsól attempted to reach for his neck backhanded, but it was too late. He cast his move before her, spread his leg to latch her, arms locked her waist and turn her over. All of a sudden she was held to the ground by his gauntlet, then he rode on her back to prevent her from attacking.

_So now it was end of the game._

 

She panted, could not help but hissed for the pain all over her body. They were too close, she almost smelt his vampiric aura, felt his warrior weight overwhelming her. The surge of anger was falling, but another urge rose from her abdomen as some kind of weird incapacitated response.

One thing for sure, she had ever admired his temperance, fancied or was jealous for his excellence of battles, and always infuriated by his patronizing smiles aloof. Unlike other vampires, he was a true templar norm even for those blood knights, and a prideful swellhead.

He removed himself from Alfsól, then grabbed her shoulders to help her up.

"I should apologize for my arrogance foregoing. If it hurt your feeling, then it was my fault."

She signed. _What a lofty bastard he is._

To prevent his another words of mercy, Alfsól set up her body and dived into his arms. This time, she did it in terrible needs. The mercenary pressed her lips against his chin, arms stretching out to take off his helmet. He made a shove of startle, however halted while touched her blood-soaked bandages, and her fevered skin beneath. She seized the opportunity to kiss him by his mouth. His awkward eluding only made thing worse as her second time assault steadily took ground.

"…ya mad, woman." The Red Dragon gnashed while he broke from their kiss.

"Too lusty maybe." Irritated by this awhile of emptiness, Alfsól narrowed her eyes to scrutinize his solid feature. Not like those von Carstein's toxicant stares, from his piercing eyes she could find him in truth. She could read him as she wanted to. Why did such an exquisite honour-forged creature go astray into that way was also a mystery.

Alfsól sniffed, continued leaning forward to get him, yet he reached out a gauntlet to hold her back of the head.

"Won't you regret yourself?" His voice strained as if some heavy emotion made waves under his mask of sober.

She chuckled in scorn. "Why? Norsemen never regret, even in death."

Then, the vampire curled his pale lips in a malignant way, with another armoured hand claimed her by waist. "Good. Because this won't end easy. "

 

 

 

 

Shuddered by his sudden icy touch, Alfsól moaned softly while their lips met again. Before she could make any smirk of triumphant, his strategic invasions already came. With a muffled voice his tongue encroached into her, fangs scratching her lower lip, warm breathe all devoured by the vampire's cold mouth. She flinched instinctively under his primitive nature to tactically win the game, while her chest started to heave badly for anoxic.

Fortunately, he released her slightly with a prevailing smile on corner of his mouth. "So eager for me, you little living creature. Sometimes eagerness does no effect for gaining victory." He said it between their mouths.

The mercenary got rankled about his lecturing tone as if she was still that fifteen-year-old infantile whelp drown in abomination for her evil brother day and night. But she retorted nothing.

After that his chilling kisses went down her neck, magical things the Red Dragon cast on her to make her quiver. Alfsól grumbled while he made it to her chest. Curiously she took notice of him disassembled those bandages instead of tearing it apart, and amazed by the enjoyable scenes he revealed with his own hands except those terrible scars.

"Now I understand why he kept talking about you." He murmured in a sense of joy.

"Wha...?"

Without explanation he lifted both of them up with ease, one gauntlet cupped her curve and another held her back. The Red Dragon was a strong man with tall figure, though she wasn't much shorter than him, her legs still hung in the air. Not used to being carried like this, the norse warrior blared in disgruntled, but he pressed a soothing kiss on her lips.

"Hush, Alfsól the Hard-Living. Later I will repay you more."

 

The Red Dragon took her to the adyton at the end of the cella. Out of the temple, darkness already came, yet lights of campfire flickered as they shared more hungry kisses.

He took off his helmet after putting her to a credence. With a grin of conquering he tasted her blood which bled from her wounds as his gauntlet hands grabbed her norscan-sized firm breasts and pinched them with crude tricks. She moaned out in both pain and pleasure, reared her head backwards, exposing chiseled collar covered with tattoo of a berserker. His vampiric teasing licks followed as if admiring her uninhibited fierce spirit embedded in those wild patterns.

All at once he rose from her, frigid face incarnadining by her blood. "Fair to the middling." The Red Dragon smacked.

"You too." She lied down and trapped him with her thighs, prompting him to do the next.

"You're the first human I've tasted in thousands of years." He said reminiscently while removing his gauntlet. "After that fateful night when I drank deep into a crimson wyrm. No longer did I crave the lifeblood of human. "

"What are you talking about? Have you lived...for thousand years?" The norse mercenary asked dumbfounded in a silvery voice.

"Yes, little woman. I'm far older than you."

_But his motion continued._

"Oh my...by Sigmar!" She tittered when got off her breeches, inside her some hot lava came out. "And you just made a comparison of the taste between me and that dragon?"

"Yes and no. Human blood are mild." The Red Dragon demounted last of his armour plate. His broad shoulders and husky chest, his pale sculptural torso and scarred muscular abdominal region, all of that so delectable to stare, making her desire growing.

"You're an arrogant idiot, I must indicate."

"I know, I am not blinded."

She humphed in defiance as he preyed upon her with concentration, which was quite the opposite to his cold anterior.

Thenceforth his mighty blade of man penetrated her wet fold with warrior's strength.

"Gosh!" Alfsól groaned in delight, back clashed against the stone wall, every aggression against her tenderness was a thrust of steel, her enormous breasts fluctuating in his rhythm. Tides of pleasure surged every parts of her body, the mercenary couldn't help but cry out in a bestial way that might spook the dead. Even so, her sanity almost got lost while saw him immersed in her with that stoic moral-looking features.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

However the battle between them stilled. She bite her lower lip, legs crossing around his hips, muscular thighs stroke his waist to let him fuck her deeply, that was her way of countering. He smirked, reached down to kiss her neck, her nipples, and eventually her lips meanwhile his persistent aggressions never ceased. 

It felt so good as their bodies obsessed, imminent orgasm almost there. Outside the temple, the sound of summer rain played a euphonic sonata. Thunder lights glinted through skylight windows. Everything fading away except him. Time flowed like currents in the sea, and they were two boats on the verge of being swamped. There were once tremendous gaps between them, but emotion were interflowing beyond words.

She gasped desperately, wanted to call him by his name, but didn't know how to.

"...Abhorash, " As if he could read up her mind, the Red Dragon proclaimed to her in a soft voice when held her tight. "I'm Abhorash. Champion of a dead kingdom or the red dragon as you like, it...all doesn't matter, little norsii. Now I just want to feel you. I want to hear your scream."

From the primordial origin til the end of time, of the first time in her vagrant life, Alfsól took and was taken in such that she called his true name again and again when it came at her again and again, until dawn.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The true plot of their stories will be unfolded after the end times and this second meet is just a pure one night stand but don’t worry I will do it in justice.  
> The wrestling actions was inspired by some of my medieval europe martial art books.  
> And guess who is that Bretonian 'el Sabros'.


End file.
